Parachute
by CayStar
Summary: The irony of the fire was not lost on her, she was simply too busy running for her life to give it much consideration. High in a tree, she tried to hide her pain, but the silver parachute reminded her that he was always watching, caring. "Stay alive." Katniss/Haymitch


**Fandom** : Hunger Games  
 **Pairing** : Katniss/Haymitch  
 **Word coun** t: 1892  
 **Rating** : M for subject matter

 **Soundtrack** : _Parachute_ by Chris Stapleton

 _ **AN: I adore this pairing and this story came to me as I was listening to the song. Basically wrote it in my head on my way home from work.  
**_ _ **You have to read between the lines on this one, it's a different style than I normally write. Hope you enjoy!**_

* * *

 _ **Parachute**_

She caught his attention with two simple words— _I volunteer._ They were familiar words on reaping day, at least in the career districts. In Twelve they seemed almost out of context.

Her sister was still sobbing when he decided to introduce himself to the intriguing tribute. Of course, his intoxicated mind left him misjudging his step. His head-first dive off the stage did little to impress her.

~ _Falling feels like flying 'til you hit the ground_ ~

She earned his respect with a well-placed knife. His bloodshot eyes met her sharp Seam gaze and he knew—they spoke the same language.

Through the prep teams and the training and the sensation they made on the Capitol, he began to feel an unfamiliar sensation. He knew he should push it down, push it back, push it as far away from him as he could possibly get it, but it was too late. For the first time in twenty-four years, Haymitch Abernathy began to _hope._

While he coached the boy with words, he coached his girl with stinging sarcasm, silent directives, and countless stolen kisses. On the elevator, on the roof, and once in the predawn darkness of her tribute bedroom, he showed her the power of seduction she never realized she held.

His calloused, trembling hands mapped her slender body, tasting every inch in a smorgasbord of forbidden fruit. With days or decades left to live, she surrendered all she had.

~ _You only need a fire when it's cold_ ~

He prowled the sponsor parties with deceptive drunkenness, collecting funds for his so-called star-crossed lovers. All the while, he kept his ears open for any word than they'd been made. They just had to keep up the charade until she was safely out of the arena.

" _Stay alive."_ He'd growled the words against the tender skin of her throat—advice, a prayer, a _plea_ for her survival. She'd muffled her cry of pleasure against his shoulder, raking her blunt nails down his scarred and burdened back. " _Come back to me."_

Out of his embrace, as far from safety as she could possibly be, she surveyed the arena with a hunter's eye. Barely five seconds into the countdown, she'd identified her biggest threats and mapped her escape route, eyeing only the bag closest to her for supplies.

The irony of the fire was not lost on her, she was simply too busy running for her life to give it much consideration. High in a tree, she tried to hide her pain, but the silver parachute reminded her that he was always watching, caring. " _Stay alive."_

 _~You only need a roof when it's raining~_

The boy was a necessary annoyance, but the Capitol loved him dearly. She hated giving her kisses to him, false as they were, but Haymitch reminded and rewarded her with words only they understood.

The changed rule was not a shock to the girl or her mentor, but she must have acted a bit too well when she prepared to bid him a tearful goodbye as he bled out by the lake. The trumpets blared before the cannon, giving Panem two victors instead of one.

He refused to kiss her when she woke in the hospital, hugging her instead as he whispered to her that she had to keep up the act. She snuck her small hand down the front of his pants and squeezed a bit too forcefully in retribution.

~ _You only need a drink when the whiskey is the only thing that you have left to hold_ ~

As soon as the train pulled out of Twelve, she set the boy straight. She may have to live a lie for the cameras, but Haymitch was the one who held her heart.

He stilled her thrashing and quieted her screams, all while stoking the fires of rebellion she had sparked back on the day of her sister's reaping. For six glorious months they lived in a steamy, alcohol-scented bubble.

While the Victory Tour ended with a staged proposal and a teary acceptance, the private toasting at his home was everything she never knew she wanted. The following consummation was even more fiery than their normal couplings. The Girl on Fire and her beloved Mentor were one.

~ _Sun comes up and goes back down_ ~

He really should have seen the Quell announcement coming. Why else would Twelve conveniently have two new Victors to choose from? It wasn't like the Capitol was falling all over itself to see Haymitch back in the games.

She raged at him, throwing his liquor bottles against the wall in an impressive display of unbridled fear and hormones. When she exhausted herself enough to collapse into his arms, he spoke his vow.

" _I will get you out of that arena, Sweetheart."_ One large, shaky hand came to rest on her still-flat stomach. " _Both of you."_

 _~Say the word and I'll be there for you~_

The boy shocked them all when he confessed both the toasting and the baby, though it rankled to hear him claim them as his own. She pressed him up against the wall, ready to remove his head for his blasphemy, but as usual the Mentor chose to mediate.

" _We can use this, Sweetheart. I need you to trust me, please."_

She did relent, but only because he was not one for begging. She also agreed to work with the allies he'd chosen for the same reason.

On the beach, the boy with the bread opened his locket, showing her the pictures inside. " _You have people who need you Katniss, people who love you."_

Haymitch's scowling likeness nearly brought her to tears as the boy continued, " _There's no one who needs me."_

She had no idea what she was doing other than attempting to destroy the forcefield, but her Mentor told her to remember the real enemy, so she let her arrow fly true as the world crumbled around her. The hovercraft lights were the last thing she could see.

~ _Street lights along the highway~_

Coin was less than pleased with the tribute he'd chosen to save, especially once she watched the footage of their less-than-subtle reunion on the ship. Peeta's apparent capture was not something she was prepared for.

" _The boy was the voice—she's just the face. We could have utilized a martyr, but now Snow holds possession of our best shot at reaching the masses!"_

Haymitch had his hands around her throat before she finished speaking, and the cold steel of a service revolver was the only thing that saved the president of Thirteen.

" _Don't you dare call my wife—our_ baby— _a martyr,"_ he spat as he turned and strode back to the hospital wing, sitting vigil at her bedside.

She'd been silent since the destruction of Twelve and subsequent loss of their unborn child. He hoped he would be able to bring her back to him soon. " _I love you, Sweetheart. With all I have, I love you."_

 _~Baby, I will be your parachute~_

It took Haymitch crying actual tears in the middle of the artificial night to wake her from her stupor. She agreed to film the propos if she could first go and visit the ruins of District Twelve.

She was surprised to find the Victor Village still intact, but she gratefully recovered her father's hunting jacket, along with his picture, and Prim's horrid demon cat. Meanwhile, Haymitch entered his house to find a pristine white rose resting innocently on their marriage bed.

They stood together in front of the fireplace, thinking back to their most meaningful night there, and mourning the small life they'd begun then. He wasn't sure if it was the right time to speak or not, but then he'd never really worried about that before.

" _We'll have more babies, Sweetheart. Babies that will never have to worry about facing the arena."_

She held her head higher when they boarded the hovercraft, ready to fully embrace her new role as the face of a revolution. She did not, however, expect the reception that was waiting for her in Thirteen.

 _~Throwing shadows in the dark~_

He had to give her credit—Coin was smarter than he originally thought. Still, she signed her own death warrant when she pointed Snow's perfect weapon at his Mockingjay.

She scowled at him constantly during her second recovery period. He never thought he'd miss their normal quarrels as much as he did though. He was glad when she regained her familiar ornery voice, even if it sounded painfully raspy.

The morphling withdrawals were more difficult this time, but she had a husband who was experienced in drying out. They entered the final surge of the war more haggard and gaunt than they'd ever looked in the Seam. It was time to end things.

Another unimaginable loss led to another well-placed arrow, and the Mockingjay was deemed officially broken. It took all his persuasive skills to let him take her home.

~ _To the rhythm of a broken heart_ ~

For months he cared for his wounded bird—bathing her, coaxing Sae's broth between her chapped lips. All the while he talked to her.

He told her stories of his childhood, the family lost to him after his defiance in the games. He told her that she was his redemption, and how he would lose them all over again if it meant he would have just one more day with her.

It was the boy that pulled her out this time. His quiet words attempting to calm their mentor's furious shouts as they argued beside the porch. " _It's primrose. I thought she'd like it."_

She pulled herself up and stepped carefully to the door, leaning gratefully against her husband when he saw her. " _I'm sorry I was gone so long this time."_

They settled into a comfortable routine, a shadow of their life before the Victory Tour. He decided to raise geese, while she slowly returned to the hunt. The boy with the bread occasionally came over for dinner. It was a simple life—one they all craved.

~ _And the memories keep on turning~_

Her scars outnumbered his, on the surface at least, but he still found her beautiful. Fiery kisses became low-burning embers as time moved on around them.

The first child was a girl—a true angel whose personality mirrored her sainted aunt more than either of her parents. She loved to sing and dance in the meadow where the bones of the past lay buried. When she moved to the Capitol to study medicine, her mother checked out for nearly three weeks.

The boy was all the explosion of alcohol meeting fire. He made Katniss feel old and Haymitch feel young, and kept them unimaginably busy as he grew. He was also the one who cared for them when his father's self-abused body began to give out.

They had forty-five years from the day of the reaping to the day they went to sleep together and did not wake up. They were buried beneath a willow tree and entered into textbooks as heroes—the Girl on Fire, the Mockingjay, and the man who lifted her up. Her Mentor, her protector, her beloved husband and friend.

Their son taught his children the truth—about the angry drunk and the scrappy girl. He taught them to hunt, to play, and to sing. He reminded them that their grandparents changed the world.

 _~There's a song that I remember~_


End file.
